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She had stood up from her seat and had been slowly edging away from me as if she could sense the danger.
I started walking toward her. She looked at me like I was a predator prowling toward its prey.
I reached for her, but she tried to run past me. I seized her arm, and she cried out as she felt my iron grip around her forearm.
As she struggled, I twisted her around, slamming her back into my hard body. With my other hand, I drew my knife and brought it up to her body.
She still didn’t talk.
Whether it was due to fear or stubbornness, it didn’t matter anymore. She was out of time—she had to talk now. I yanked down the strap of her top, revealing her vulnerable skin.
“Please…please don’t.”
“Is this what you want? Do you want me to force the information out of you?”
“N-no,” she stammered.
I pressed the blade hard against her fragile skin, the cold of the metal threatening to pierce the warmness of her skin. “Then tell me what I want to know.”
I had wanted to avoid this—I had wanted to avoid marring her perfect skin, tainting it with my darkness.
When she didn’t reply, I pressed the tip of the sharp blade harder against her shoulder, causing a drop of blood to appear.
She took a sharp breath. “Stop, please!” she whimpered.
But still she gave nothing up.
I forced myself to press the blade deeper against her, watching the stark steel slice her creamy skin as a cry rushed past her lips.
The sight of the smear of red shocked me as much as it shocked her. I watched her bring her shaking hand up to her shoulder and then blanch as she saw the crimson stain spreading across her fingers.
I hardened my heart and gripped her tightly again, preparing to make the next cut.
I felt her legs give way as the steel touched her shoulder again.
And her scream went right through me, making me shudder.
CHAPTER 11
ALESSIO
As I restrained her with her back pressed up against my chest, I could feel her violently shaking.
“Fine, fine!” she cried out, sobbing through her words.
I could see that she was petrified, but I couldn’t stop now. This was where I needed her mind to be if she was going to talk.
“When did you first suspect that your father was involved with the Bratva?” My voice was hard and flat.
“The first time I saw or heard any Russians…it was the day when my mom and brother were killed during the so-called burglary,” she hiccupped through her tears.
Her reply threw me. “So that was when you were fourteen?” I asked in confusion.
“Yes. As soon as I turned eighteen, I moved out of my father’s home to get away from him. But I knew he was probably still doing deals with the Bratva.”
“Why didn’t you report this to my brother, Marco? He is the Fratellanza’s Capo, and your first loyalty is to him, not to your traitor of a father.”
“My first duty is to myself,” she spat back at me.
